


We Are Home Now

by MissEmmanuelle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Aunt/Nephew Incest, F/M, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Survival, acciddental incest, shame and guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 21:52:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14881887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissEmmanuelle/pseuds/MissEmmanuelle
Summary: The Long Night is finally over and Jon and Sansa are the few remaining survivors. Rebuilding Winterfell together will take more than just hands, but hearts as well.





	We Are Home Now

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anon prompt on Tumblr.  
> Anon asked:  
> Hi could I please submit this prompt: "You're scaring me," she says quietly. "Please don't look like that. I wouldn't tell you you were if I didn't trust you."
> 
> Unbeta'd so pardon the mistakes!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Elle xxx (jonsaforlife/jonsa-creatives - come say hi!)

It still stood tall and proud. And grey. Some of the stones were chipped off and obscene chunks strewn all over the snowy grounds, but the walls still held fast.

 _That_  was Winterfell. The castle had taken countless beatings and yet its towers stood defiantly, the battlements still heavily draped with tattered Stark banners flapping in the chilly winds. 

There was never any doubt to whom the castle still belonged to. Though it was no longer a domicile of proud Northern folk, most of them had perished in the Great War; a frightening war that lasted a year between the dead and the living. In its monstrosity, it had unleashed a great fear and dread never seen since tales of the Long Night were written. It had come as prophesied and it had come with a vengeance. Took with it every living person and creature, man woman and child. And the strong with the weak. Knights, squires and even Queens. 

It tortured him a great deal; their shrill screeches still awake him at night and sleep had turned into a threatening demon - ever vigilant to snatch the very life out of his fatigued body every time he tried to close his eyes. He knew he had not slept for ages and it weakened him, no matter how much he tried to remain his stoic self.

Fifty. Just fifty. That was all there was. Just fifty of them who fought and lived. Tormund and the few wildling men who survived had returned with bleak news and with sacks of bones, proof and a result of months ranging deep into the north of the Wall - that there was not one living human left for miles and miles. The Night King had been industrious in his enslavement, his subjects had numbered almost all of Westeros. Except just fifty of them. Whether they were fortunate or cursed remained to be seen but Jon was thankful he survived to see his family by his side.  _The Starks will endure_ , he remembered Ned’s words still.

Word had yet to come from the South, where Arya, Pod and Gendry accompanied by the remaining Knights of the Vale were tasked to bring news of the state of the Capital. Jon had prayed for the first time in his resurrected life that they would all return safely home soon and intact. He had doubts, for the gods were cruel but if the Lord of Light had restored him, he would have the faith that He would restore his people too. If not, Valryian steel would do. Arya had proven a better swordswoman than most men he battled with. 

At least he had Sansa by his side. Sweet Sansa, still shaken and bruised, her nightmares were every bit as real as his own. It had become somewhat a norm for them to be in each other’s company, sitting by the fire before they retired for the night. Words were rarely spoken but there was hardly a need, they were both comforted by each other’s presence. Though never acknowledged between them, Jon never felt more at ease with anyone, let alone a woman other than Sansa and there was no others that Sansa wished to spend her quiet time than with Jon. 

Conversation was almost naught, since the day he returned home to Winterfell with the Dragon Queen by his side and pledged his fealty to her. The riot and discord amongst the Northern Lords and their objections were short lived when alarms had sounded and they all realised the dead had come marching too close to home. The Wall, created to keep the Walkers out had crumbled to pieces and the War had begun. Just as Jon had warned them. 

_The dead, the dead, the dead…_

It had seemed like ages ago, almost as if it had been in another lifetime entirely as Sansa recalled how her heart nearly stopped when a wight had her neck in its clutches, the bony chilly fingers wrapped around her throat and Sansa found herself staring into hollow icy orbs of blue. This was what death had looked like. Her nightmares did not come close to what had touched her. And all she remembered was shutting her eyes and screaming. 

It was within just a breath when she was yanked away forcefully from death’s own grip, one that made Sansa open her eyes despite her fears. _Jon_. How his warm body and familiar scent was suddenly over hers, shielding her from evil. That was the only word that played in her mind. Evil. Cold, pure evil. She watched in horror with her very eyes how the Dragon Queen fell, captured and torn to shreds by wights - as if she were a ragged doll, bloodied bits of her flying about and her magnificent dragons slain close by, failing to save their Mother, as each one was shot and bled to the ground. 

No creature was too great nor too formidable for the Night King to kill. It was a sight that would remain on her mind for as long as she lived. Jon was right. There was only one war and it was nothing like any wars known to man.

The memory made her flinch and a small whimper escaped her lips, alerting Jon who was sitting quietly reading a book by the fire.

“Are you all right, Sansa?”

There was no need to speak of the truth that ailed her. It was a quiet and peaceful time for both of them and she would cherish these moments as much as she could.

“A slight knot in my neck is all, I had been sewing all night, yesterday. I suppose I shouldn’t any longer. Silly me.”

“New dress?” Jon gave a little knowing smile as he glanced her way to meet her eyes.

“A new cloak wouldn’t hurt. I’m making one for you and Bran.”

Jon’s face lit up in pleasure as his eyes met hers. “Thank you Sansa. I’m sure it’s magnificent and I’m looking forward to wearing it.”

“You’re very kind, Jon. I doubt it will be. I try my best but… sometimes my hands tremble a little too much-” Sansa paused, realising she had said more than she should. Taking a deep breath, she shut her eyes for a moment.

A year was too little to escape from the horrors that replayed in her mind and a silence blanketed the room. A brief glance his way found Jon staring at her intently, as if willing her to continue and say her piece. 

It was unsettling how he had his eyes resting on her. She had caught his stares more than once now, and it lingered a little too long than she thought was appropriate. There were questions in his eyes and if he was looking for answers, Sansa didn’t have them. 

“I-I’m sorry. I meant the cold. This winter has gotten to me, I suppose.”

Jon broke his gaze and looked down. Sansa thought she saw a slight flush come over his cheeks, from the faint light of the flames. The silence was pregnant with unspoken need for seeking comfort. From their nightmares, obviously. What else could it be? 

“I tremble too. Sometimes, when I sleep, my body twitches and I jolt out of bed. And I never want to sleep again.”

“It’s not the cold,” Jon continued as his gaze returned to her. 

Sansa’s breath hitched and she almost clutched at her chest. 

“I can’t sleep either, Jon. It tires me but I could never sleep. I know it’s not the cold. But… We’ve never talked about it.”

Jon didn’t answer. Sansa stared again into the flames. Whatever the Lord of Light has brought upon them, Sansa hoped it was a brighter future. 

“Do you want to? Talk about it?” Jon’s voice wavered a little as the question finally escaped his lips. 

“It’s been a year, Jon. All that’s happened. Why are we still alive? I can’t sleep at night because my nightmares are memories and I’m still truly frightened. I don’t want to live like this. None of us are the same anymore.” 

“Aye, we’re still alive. We’re still standing. I don’t understand it anymore than you do and I wished I had answers, Sansa. But I don’t. I’m still Jon,” he said, his voice softening at the last few words, as if uncertain.  _No, you’re not_ , he thought to himself. 

“ Are you? Are you, still Jon Snow?”

Jon closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The scent of burning embers was a constant source of comfort.  _I am a Stark. I am of the North. I have always been,_  he told himself. 

“Aye. Is that so hard to believe? When I say that I am truly a Stark?” Jon turned to Sansa who was now fiddling a tad too zealously with her handkerchief.

Sansa hesitated to speak her truth. She had known about Jon, or Aegon as Bran recounted to her. Sam Tarly was present to corroborate that, pointing out to a page in archived anecdotal records. Secret ones, no less. And there it was clear as day, as to who Jon really was. His birth and his parents. 

Perhaps, Jon realised she had known the truth. He wasn’t the same Jon anymore. Or at least she wasn’t certain.

“Will you hate me, when I tell you I know the truth? That I know who you are? We have to talk about this, Jon. About what it means.” The gentle, pleading tone in Sansa’s voice pricked his ears and it was unmistakable, her care and concern for him. 

Jon felt heat rising up his neck and settling on his cheeks. Anger, it was not. His eyes remained on Sansa but his body inched closer and soon, they sat only two steps away from each other, their hands would almost touch if any one of them shifted ever so slightly. Strangely enough, he felt at ease still. 

“ **Please don’t look at me like that. You’re scaring me**.”

Jon quickly turned his head away, snapping back to his senses.  _Don’t, s_ _he’s still your sister. Half sister. Cousin._

“How did you know? Was it Bran?” 

“Does it matter now? Please Jon,  **I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t trust you**  enough not to hold that against me.”

“Do you? Trust me that is? Now that I’m no longer a Stark by name?” 

Sansa cocked her head slightly as she studied Jon. There was nothing different about him. He still looked the same. But there was a different air about him now that she sat in the presence of the true heir of the Seven Kingdoms. Or what was left of it. It was uncanny how she was always in the company of kings. Ominous, it seemed. Of what, she had little knowledge. 

“I am truly sorry you had to find out.. The way you did. And I’m sorry about Danaerys, I-” 

“No, Sansa. Please don’t,” Jon objected softly. “Please talk about everything else but please do not talk about her.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to see if… If you’re all right, is all. With all that happened. I’m truly sorry for your loss, Jon.”

Jon sighed deeply. How he wished he could speak openly of his heart’s desires, his secrets, his fears. His shame and guilt.

“I am not. Aye, she was brave. She fought for the North but I shall be forever burdened with the guilt of her death it till my dying day.”

A familiar sense of home came over her and Sansa grabbed and squeezed Jon’s hand in his. “But she was your family, Jon. The only family you had.”

_And I debauched her. I poisoned myself, my flesh mingled with hers. My own flesh and blood. I would live with the shame and have it burn deep in my bones till the day I die again._

“No. You’re my family. You. Arya and Bran. You have always been. No others could change that. We are home now, ” Jon’s other hand clasped hers in his and he found himself staring into her pale blues. Sansa smiled as her eyes slowly welled up in tears. _Jon is Jon._   _  
_

“Cousins,” Sansa corrected him, with a slight smirk.

Jon chuckled. “Aye, cousins.”

**_As the dawn of Spring kissed the snowy dew.._ **

“Touch me, Jon. I want you to.” Jon opened his eyes and they were met with a piercing blue eyed gaze full of longing.  _Oh, Sansa._  

“Sansa.. If I do, I’m afraid I will never ever stop,” Jon whispered into her mouth as their lips met again. This time with such fervent hunger, as she grabbed tightly onto his tunic, pulling him close. 

“Then don’t. There is only us now. The only Starks left. We made a promise, Jon. To each other, to our family,” Sansa said as she nuzzled into his firm broad shoulder. 

“Will you have me, then?” 

Sansa ran her palm along the curve of his chin and cupped the side of his head. There was little resistance from either of them as Sansa lovingly kissed the tip of Jon’s nose. 

 “Yes.. we are home now. You and me. This is our Winterfell.”


End file.
